


Aempe and Gildentwine

by maureeeen



Category: Wiedźmin | The Witcher - All Media Types, Wiedźmin | The Witcher Series - Andrzej Sapkowski
Genre: Gen, M/M, Mentions of Death, Mentions of very niche sea creature related fetishes, Some depictions of violence
Language: English
Status: Completed
Published: 2020-03-10
Updated: 2020-03-10
Packaged: 2021-03-01 03:26:44
Rating: Teen And Up Audiences
Warnings: Creator Chose Not To Use Archive Warnings
Chapters: 1
Words: 4,187
Publisher: archiveofourown.org
Story URL: https://archiveofourown.org/works/23098552
Author URL: https://archiveofourown.org/users/maureeeen/pseuds/maureeeen
Summary: Dandilion had never seen Geralt look afraid. Not once, not even earlier - well, yesterday it was, now, when the dragon hadn't stopped gaining on the prince whose life he was supposed to safe, with its eyes full of fire and its talons made of steel, after he'd said his spell a second time, and a third, and a fourth, to no avail.Dandelion and Geralt are captives on a ship, ordered by King Galliomath to be drowned.
Relationships: Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia & Jaskier | Dandelion, Geralt z Rivii | Geralt of Rivia/Jaskier | Dandelion
Comments: 8
Kudos: 63





	Aempe and Gildentwine

“Dandilion?”  
“Yes.”  
Dandilion, about a nose and a half worth of space away from Geralt, stared at his face, while the witcher was staring up at the ceiling. There were a few cracks in there where the blue morning light shone through. The sea moved gently under them.  
"Had I had even an inkling of a doubt the Gildentwine would work, I would never have allowed you to come along. It never failed me before. Should we be lucky enough to get out of this, I will find Mannesfried and he will have to explain to me why exactly he wants me dead."  
Dandilion had never seen Geralt look afraid. Not once, not even earlier - well, yesterday it was, now, when the dragon hadn't stopped gaining on the prince whose life he was supposed to safe, with its eyes full of fire and its talons made of steel, after he'd said his spell a second time, and a third, and a fourth.  
But now. Humiliation there was, too, on his face, and regret as painful as a rotting tooth. So people were wrong with what they said, about witchers. Not that Dandilion hadn't already figured that out, but this was confirmation nonetheless and confirmation was never unwelcome.  
And all the while it was fascinating to watch, though probably reason for serious alarm.  
"It's alright." Dandilion sounded hoarse even to his own ears. It was to be expected after three long days of travel, looking for the damn monster in the first place that had kidnapped the king's youngest, precious son, golden haired, he would have made a lovely knight - well. Three long days of travel and then a fight that wouldn't end and then an escape they barely managed to pull off, and a persecution. And then a whole night on their feet in this tiny, horrible closet. Cold it was, too. His back was aching and his knees and along with them all the rest of his body.  
"It's not," said Geralt.  
“No. It’s not. But it happened, and there's no point in letting it eat you up."  
"It would be easier to stop were it only my own life."  
Dandilion rolled his eyes. "Not like I didn't know this might happen."  
"I'm sure you didn't expect it to."  
"No. And still I'd rather you spent your energy thinking up a way to get us out of here than feeling sorry for yourself-"  
"I am."  
"And how's it going?"  
Geralt exhaled through his nostrils. "I'm thinking back to an alliance I've made with the merfolk years and years ago that might come in handy but those were merfolk far away from here and I've since caught and eaten too many fish, I think, for them to care."  
"Better than nothing?"  
"...I'm afraid it might as well be."  
Dandilion sighed and let his head fall against Geralt’s firm, leather clad chest. For a moment he felt sleep creep into the corners of his eyes, slide over his would-be vision like a magnetic cloak, pulling all the exhaustion out of his bones up to the surface.  
"Why'd you have to tell them your singing would soothe the dragon? You might have been let go otherwise."  
"Because I thought it might."  
"You couldn't possibly be that-"  
"I am." Dandilion sighed. "Obviously I overestimated myself."  
"Yes, ob-"  
“Doesn’t mean it couldn’t have worked on a different dragon.”  
Dandilion felt Geralt laugh more than he heard it. “Yes, I remember now that you mention it, I was taught that red dragons are the most indifferent to music.”  
“Yes, what you want is a golden one. They like it. Followed by the green ones and the purple ones, although they do prefer a flute.”  
Geralt was quiet.  
"Maybe we can swim back to the shore."  
"We are a whole night away."  
"How do you know? Maybe they're taking us to a prison on an island where we could hide if we make a run for it at the right time, maybe we've just been going around in circles because they wanted to give us a good scare. Maybe this is a fisherboat and we’ve been standing still all night, a couple yards from the shore. You know, it would make sense that they’d want to catch all the fish first and make us walk the plank after, what with the risk of catching us back and all."  
“Are you finished?”  
“Yes.”  
"If you listen very closely to the sound of the waves against the keel, you can tell how tall they are. And the waves aren’t this tall anywhere close to land.”  
“You could’ve just let me believe it.”  
Geralt shifted his weight somewhat, but gently, with his torso stiff.

"You know, realistically. What more would have come of me? Five years, ten, maybe, more of singing, roaming around, and then? I would have never married. I would have just gotten uglier, lost all my hair, and been alone. Maybe not so bad to die young. Don't reek of desperation yet. Get to keep my dignity."  
"What are you talking about?"  
"Have you seen a 40 year old bard? Tell me that's not a sad existence. Like an overgrown girl stuffed into a dollhouse, they are, in the best of cases. With their white tights and their fancy, royal lutes. And that's the lucky ones. And vagabondry’s only pretty when it’s sunburned and young, and can pretend to be wide eyed and aching…"  
"You sound delirious."  
"I am tired, but that doesn’t make me any less right."  
"You know, should it really come to swimming, you ought to get some rest.”  
"Mh."

"This is really the vainest thing I've ever- well, of course, son of August-"  
Dandilion laughed, he’d been just on the edge of sleep.  
"Did your mother birth you and put you out in the fields, right away? For the sun to cook your brain?”  
"Might as well have."  
"Think all you're good for is that stupid look on your face…"  
"Think your singing can make a dragon reconsider his-"  
"Oh, I didn't, really."  
"No?"  
Dandilion straightened up so he could look the witcher in the eyes. "Of course not. I just wanted to come with."  
Geralt took a moment to respond. "You should have told them that."  
"It wouldn't really have been coming with, then."  
Geralt sighed, exasperated.  
"You spend too much time on poetry, if you had even an ounce of practicality in you-"  
"Alright, dad."  
Geralt made a noise like he found something disgusting stuck to his shoe and Dandilion leaned his head back against his chest.  
Then, they were quiet.  
Dandilion listened to the - tall - waves crash against the ship and the creaking of the wood and the wind in the sails and the crew waking up. He felt Geralt's arms around his shoulders, then, unsure and careful. "I'll miss you horribly."  
He felt himself smile. "Ah, we'll both go to hell." He said, hugging back, as firm as he could, making Geralt laugh.

The time came, then, that a heavy step approached, keys jingling. It was only now that they let go of each other. Dandilion might have slept a wink or two, it was hard to be sure in the dark with all the noise around. And maybe they ought to be thankful for the light that hit their eyes when the cell door was finally opened but they both groaned with pain and they both knew what it meant.  
As he stumbled out into the belly of the ship with his hands stretched out before him, awaiting their rope, Dandilion wondered if his legs would even have it in them to walk the plank. So much for dignity. How many people might be on this ship? Enough to tell the story to enough people to ruin his reputation? He’d seen men slip off it, the plank that was, it was a shaky thing and often wet, and then be pulled back out of the water again and again until they’d managed finally to walk all the way to the end. 

The jailer pushed him against the cell wall when he was done tying his hands together and moved on to Geralt. He did look horrible, still, disheveled, wounded, dirty, but all the emotion on his face had vanished.  
"What are you staring at him for? He can’t help you." Said the jailer. He was old and fat and missing teeth and there wasn’t any cruelty in his voice, not one harsh tone, he’d spoken softly.  
"Still nice to look at."  
He saw a small smile flit over the jailers dirty, sweaty face. Geralt didn’t move a muscle.  
"Alright." He said, smacking the side of Geralt's arm. "I trust you won’t try to escape. There's really no way to go but the sea. Follow me."

And so they did. 

Had it seemed bright to them in the belly of the ship, the sun on the upper deck was impossible to bear. It had to have reached zenith. So, Dandilion thought, he’d slept after all.  
The deck was crawling with nosy people that swarmed around their little procession to take a look at the prisoners, some dressed in the palace’s finest, some in ripped, old cloth. Most of them however wore the same sadistically joyous expression.  
“Move, move, let them through. You’ve got enough time to gawk at ‘em later. They are to be seated before the captain’s cabin. Go on, form a lane.”  
Dandilion didn’t spot any fishing nets or rods and, as he thought to look around, he didn’t spot land either. He felt Geralt’s heavy hand on his shoulder as if he’d read his mind. So this really was to be the end. Things looked different, he thought. Brighter. The edges of them more clear.

As they stumbled across the deck, Dandilion wondered how they’d spoken of them the night before. What would he say? Arrogant show offs, he thought. Liars. Skilless thieves. Worse, probably. He hadn’t heard anything. “You’re getting what’s comin’ now!” Yelled one of them, which made him laugh. Obviously. 

They were made to sit on a small wooden bench, before them the windows to the captain’s cabin, ornately decorated and entirely impossible to see through.  
The jailer stepped behind them, separating them from the crowd. 

"Have you come up with anything?"  
"No."  
The door sprang open.  
"So! There you are, you two bastards. Sleep well down there?"  
The crowd behind them roared.  
The king’s right hand was a man dressed head to toe in baby blue and white, whose face looked as though he’d been to the mage a few times too many, his skin was too smooth for the age of his voice and the amount of animation with which he spoke, and it was pulled far too tight. He held a glass of wine with one hand, the other sat smugly at his waist, and stared at them as though he was actually expecting an answer.  
"I did, I think." Said Dandilion. People whistled and laughed. He felt a little pinch by his thumb, administered by Geralt, whose hands were bound to his. As if his tone of all things mattered now.  
"Well you are as dumb as a donkey, doesn't surprise me you can sleep standing up like one.” Laughter, once again, and applause. “Have you come up with any sort of defense down there? Anything to say for yourselves?"  
"Only that-" Geralt cleared his throat. He spoke carefully and softly, not looking up at the man. "We are terribly sorry. And that the Gildentwine I was sold by Mannesfried of Llya was what betrayed me, and that hadn’t it, the dragon would be dead and the prince alive. I have done this many times, there’s no doubt in my mind-"  
"So nothing new?"  
"Nothing new," said Geralt, defeated.  
"Well, then! You'll be granted one more meal, along with the rest of us, before you die. You made a valiant effort, fought the beast for hours, searched for it for days, gave the King something to bury, and for that at least you’ll be rewarded."  
Dandilion swallowed. He felt his blood run cold wondering what they’d feed them. Rotten fish and snails and old clams from the side of the hull, even huge, live eels were known to be forced down men’s throats on occasion. He’d seen it once on a thief, his hands had been tied behind his back, it’d made a bigger impression on him than he was ready to admit, though he’d thought back on it long and often. The noises he’d made - he willed down a wave of nausea. Maybe this was justice.  
The servant cleared his throat. "Isn’t that generous of king Galliomath? Shouldn’t you be grateful?"  
"Yes, Sir. Thank you," said Geralt, seemingly as lost in thought as Dandilion was. The crowd laughed.  
"Well, should you grow gills down there and make your way back to land, keep it to yourselves. Bert!"  
The jailer came out from behind them, then, and they were tied to a mast. Dandilion was facing the deck, Geralt the open sea. 

The preparations began.  
People started carrying big pots and plates full of food out of the hull and Dandilion was a little sad to see Bert disappear down the little ladder they’d used earlier to climb up onto the deck.  
"I am so sorry-"  
"Geralt, enough."  
Dandilion felt sick. He was afraid, now, he hadn’t really been before. The drowning of course couldn’t be pleasant but the food - who knew for how long they’d torture them? And what all they’d come up with? He kept thinking about the old man’s huge hand in that thief’s blond hair and his bulging throat. He felt dizzy, pulled his legs up towards his torso and willed the thought away. He could hear laughter and joy from a few of the seamen. Of course. Entertainment had to be rare. He squinted up against the sun, trying to spot them. “Yeah, what could be funnier than somebody afraid to die?” He yelled, and a few of them laughed harder.  
"What, are you giving them a show?"  
"Of course not," he said, sounding strangled. “Just fucking uncomfortable. Tied me up too tight.”  
As it turned out, backward around a mast was an uncomfortable position for ones arms to be in for longer than a few seconds. It was also much more vulnerable than he’d prefer. If they were going to torture and kill him, couldn’t they at least let him curl up in a ball somewhere dark and private?  
The sun was hot on his face. It was taking the men ages to get out all the food. He kept waiting for the snails and the eel and the smell of rot but all he could see so far was roasted fish and potatoes. Maybe they wanted to surprise them with the gross stuff. Make it seem like they were, in fact, going to partake in the feast and then bring all the rot out in the last second.  
Dandilion stopped watching, then, he was sure you could see the hunger in his eyes and the tentative hope. He wouldn’t give them the satisfaction.  
Instead, he stared at what he could see of the sea through the spaces in between the railing and the men’s busy legs.  
Blue on blue, sky on water, and glittering gold. At first, maybe, it would be refreshing, all the cold.  
Maybe they’d float on their backs for a while and relax before the birds would come to pick them apart. Dandilion had heard they started with the eyes. Easiest to get to. Then the throat. Then the junk and the guts and the chest. All that saltwater...he wondered if they’d eat his heart, all of if, and his lungs, surely those were his best parts, or if they’d just pick at them and leave them because they’d already had enough. How many birds would there be? A whole hoard no doubt. Two fully grown men would attract a whole lot. They’d darken the sky over them, he was sure. There were already some close. Surely they’d learned, by now, what pausing ships could mean.  
Either way, whatever the birds wouldn’t eat, the fish sure would. Maybe they were saving some poor mackerels’ lives today. He wondered if they could tell. If they could feel it in their fins. They better be grateful.  
Or, maybe, maybe, the Merfolk would take pity on them after all. But if that were the case, wouldn’t pirates and seaman and angry kings have stopped throwing men over board by now?  
Or maybe they wouldn’t take pity on them but they’d recognize Geralt, or better yet recognize a witcher and have a quest for him. Surely merfolk could make people breathe underwater.  
"Geralt?"  
"Yes?" He replied quickly. Dandilion had thought him to be meditating.  
"How long can you hold your breath for?"  
He sighed. "Well, a while. longer than you can. Not long enough to escape hungry seagulls on the open sea. Especially not in this state."  
"...did you sleep, at all?"  
"A little."

He wondered if the thief was looking down upon him now, wherever he was. He knew he’d seen his excitement at the scene although he’d tried his best to hide it with his lute. If he felt gratification. Or pity. If you could laugh at something like this, eventually, in the afterlife. At least he wouldn't have to lug that guilt around with himself anymore. Everything had its upsides.

The jailer stepped into vision, his arms crossed before his chest. He looked at Dandilion for a long while, and carefully, before he moved on to Geralt. He cleared his throat. "Aempe." He mumbled through his cough, and Dandilion, for the first time all day, felt a semblance of hope. He forced himself to keep his face neutral and his body relaxed as it had been before but he hadn’t been able to keep his eyes from widening and snapping up toward the sky in attention when he’d heard the word. Maybe he’d imagined it?  
Geralt didn't have time to reply before he continued talking. "You know, we do have a decent chef on board." He said. "If that’s any consolation. And good beer, too. I'd advise you to drink as much of it as you can. Makes the drowning easier."  
"...Sound advice."  
Aempe, Dandilion remembered the jingle. May it taste vile of salt and mud and rot, it will keep you alive for as long as it's in your blood. You can breathe in thick water and see through the salt in your eyes, Aempe makes it possible no matter how fate rolls the dice.  
It didn’t even rhyme correctly. The pacing was abhorrent.  
Dandilion thought he might piss himself with relief.  
"He’s right, you know?" Geralt said, then, when Bert had disappeared. "It'll help to drink as much as you possibly can."  
"I know," he said, and couldn’t help how excited he sounded.  
He ought to write them a new jingle, he thought, the second they were back to land he’d bring it to the witch that had come up with the potion. Aempe.. he’d always thought whoever had written that should be shot. Maybe it would make a good sum too, make up for the money they'd lost on the dead prince.  
He wondered if Geralt would want to go to Llya and talk to the wizard that had sold him the bad Dragontwine, or whatever it’d been. Mannesfried, was it? Of course he couldn’t ask, he doubted any of the men were in on this, but he wished he could at least squeeze his hand. Sadly the mast was thick and their hands far apart.

Aempe, Aempe, blessed be thee, he thought, stuffing fish into his mouth.  
He hadn’t eaten warm food in days. And bread, too, that they had as well, and potatoes with soft goat cheese, and grapes. He knew he had to drink and he did, but he had to eat, too, he was so hungry and they’d have to swim a while, should they happen upon merfolk or not. He was curious, if he was honest to himself, he’d heard many stories about them. Aempe, Aempe, blessed be thee, with your help my breath may stay here with me. Ah, nonsense. It tasted disgusting, too. If they were going to overhaul the jingle, maybe the witch would be up for a change in taste, as well.  
Geralt didn't eat as much as he did, and though that wasn’t exactly a rare occurrence, Dandilion was sure he had to have room for more than what he was eating. He took it as a sign he should slow down, however that didn’t mean he could bring himself to. No eel! No eel at all!

It took a while but Dandilion’s throat began to close up. 

He felt immediate panic, looking over the table. Pineapple? Was there pineapple here? He’d eaten so many different things, multiples of everything, in fact, it would be impossible to discern - and they wouldn’t care, either, he realized, he was here to die after all. He felt a hand then, heavy on his thigh, and looked up to Geralt giving him a look that he could tell by the incline of his head was meant to be reassuring, but Dandilion startled horribly as his eyes were big and black. So that was why he’d been so modest and had only looked down at his own plate the entire time.  
Maybe he himself should do the same, though it became increasingly more difficult to control what exactly his head was doing, straining for air.  
"Drink as much as you can," said Geralt, quiet but urgent.  
And he did until his throat became so tight it was finally impossible to draw in air, or beer, and he started to make horribly embarrassing heaving noises as he tried.  
Bert got up from his chair. "It appears it's time for you to walk," he said, making his way around the table.  
He gripped Dandilion by the armpits and dragged him off the bench and onto his feet, not without hurry and decidedly without care. Dandilion legs felt funny. They wouldn’t carry him. No dignity, then, he thought distantly. Bert pulled him over to the plank, heels dragging uselessly behind. Geralt held his gaze. His head felt like it was swelling without air in his lungs.  
"Go on."

Dandilion had to crawl onto the plank, there was no way he could get up and walk straight, his lungs, and increasingly so his entire chest, felt as though they were pulled tight together by a drawstring, like an empty coin purse.  
The men around the table laughed and cheered.  
He didn’t allow himself to jump - or fall, rather, until he was at the end of the plank, fearing they might pull him back out of the water like they had that poor thief, and when he finally got there, he threw himself into the sea like a lazy cat into a sack of oats, and finally, finally, could breathe again. 

The cold was, indeed, refreshing, and he could, indeed, see even though the taste of salt on his tongue was overwhelming. Informative it was then, the jingle. He’d have to keep that part in.  
He knew better than to look down, as he was afraid of heights, and there was nothing worse, he thought, than an increasingly black abyss right beneath your feet. So he fixated the light blue surface and waited for Geralt, hoping it wouldn't take too long, for the Aempe might stop working soon.  
He wondered what would happen to all the water in his lungs when it did and stopped thinking about it, he was sure it would result in a quite uncomfortable coughing fit and a lot of chest and throat pain. He hoped it wouldn’t cause any lasting damage. Aempe, Aempe don’t make me poor…

It took a while for Geralt to join him. When the plank finally began to shake and a big shadow appeared, Dandilion swam as fast he could backwards, and still the whirlpool of bubbles that Geralt’s entrance had caused sent him floating back quite a bit.  
As they cleared, Geralt’s face came into vision, slowly relaxing. It looked horribly swollen, Dandilion wondered if his did, too. He touched his hands to his face and Geralt gestured for them to start swimming east, past the back of the ship. Were they really going to attempt to swim all the way back to shore? That shore? Was there nothing closer? 

Dandilion had no idea how long it took to flush something out of one’s blood but he doubted that there would be enough time for them to swim a distance it had taken a whole night and half a day for a big ship to cross. They swam much faster than Dandilion had ever without Aempe but he doubted that would make much of a difference at all. 

Drowning still seemed better than birds. And at least there’d been no rotten snails.

**Author's Note:**

> They do end up surviving. Also, in my edition of The Last Hope, Dandelion's name is spelled the way I spelled it in the text, and I didn't feel like changing it, so I guess what we really have here is an OC, called Dandilion, who's heavily inspired by Mr. Sapkowski's character Dandelion. Sorry.


End file.
